own representative before taking on an ambassadorial
rank and opening for business.'
Linn Kringen smiled blandly. She was a pale-
blonde, middle-aged woman with a steely gaze. 'This
is hardly a comforting situation, Ambassador, espe-
cially in the light of the recent revelation that the
Brolturan Compact wants to assert sovereignty over
us! You can surely see how troubling this would be to
all Dariens.'
'Troubling' was putting it mildly. Someone in the
Darien Institute had leaked the Brolturans' faith-based
territorial claim along with some choice excerpts from
the less sympathetic chapters of the Omgur, and now all
the media were in ferment.
'Legator Kringen, I don't think there's any genuine
cause for concern, simply because much of this is no
more than gesture politics,' Robert said. 'The Brolturans
can be somewhat sensitive about their perceived status
so this is a face-saving exercise.'
'Exactly, Ambassador,' said Deputy-President Jardine,
a round-faced Scot with receding hair. 'The fact is that
the Hegemony is the true power in the region and
they're not going to let anything happen to one of their
principal ally's colonies.' A calculating smile came to
his lips. 'I fear that the real reason for Legator Kringen's
visibility on this issue stems from the recent divisions
within the Consolidation Alliance.'
'As ever, the honourable Deputy-President fails to
comprehend the facts, even when they are plain to see.'
Kringen shook her head. 'Ambassador Horst, as oppo-
sition spokesperson it is my duty to attend to the
concerns and doubts of the people and to ensure that the
government is doing its job. I thank you for your time
and courtesy, sir, and I shall convey your estimation of
this situation to the leader of my party. Mr Deputy-
President . . .'
And with a smile that was as sharp as it was frosty,
she broke the connection.
After that Robert was quick to bring the call with
Jardine to a close, citing a pressing workload. Onct the
screen returned to the ready cycle, he heaved a sigh of
relief, leaned back and turned his chair away from his
desk.
'I quite liked Ms Kringen,' said Harry. He was sitting
on the arm of a divan, shirtsleeves rolled up, and hold-
ing a sheaf of papers in one hand. The monochrome
image of Robert's AI companion stood in stark contrast
to the subdued browns and greens of the townhouse's
drawing room. 'Under that prim exterior I bet there's a
champion dancer and an amateur scrimshaw hobbyist.'
Robert gave him a mock-serious look. 'You were
reading her file! - I wondered why you were so quiet.'
Harry shrugged. 'All colonial politics starts to look
and sound the same after a while, Robert, and truthfully
I didn't care too much for Sundstrom's deputy.'
'He was a trade-off placement, apparently,' Robert
said. 'Sundstrom has his own coalition to keep in line
too. But what is Kuros up to? - he's kept his doors closed,
as we expected, yet he's off touring the colony, visiting
landmarks, meeting local officials. We've already had to
change my itinerary twice because he edged in before us.
Then there's the presentation at that archaeological dig
tomorrow, which I had planned to attend until one of
Kuros's assisters told me, oh so politely, that the High
Monitor wanted to be the sole dignitary, the "bearer of
the Hegemony's friendship" to the Darien colony.'
'Why, Robert - you sound peeved,' Harry said with a
wry smile.
Robert spread his hands. 'You'd think that I would
be used to it by now, given our encounters with
Hegemony functionaries down the years. Well, at least
we'll be spared the joy of listening to one of these
speeches he's been making.'
'Ah yes - I've seen the transcripts,' Harry said, shuf-
fling through his papers then striking a theatrical pose.
'"Across the galaxy's vast ocean of stars, and down
through the river of ages, certain values of life and free-
dom have remained constant, changeless. As the willing
inheritors of those cherished values, the Sendruka
Hegemony bears the responsibility of promoting and
sharing them amongst the many-formed family of sen-
tient beings. We welcome you to our great family, as we
welcomed your fellow Humans many years ago, and
invite you to join with us in spreading the values and
benefits of civilisation ..."' Harry looked up, eyebrows
arched. 'And on it goes.'
'What kind of reception is this bucket of platitudes
getting?'
'Rapturous applause,' Harry said. 'But then, the
colony's only source of offworld news is Starstream and
they've always been most supportive of our Hegemonic
allies.'
Robert nodded, feeling suddenly listless and tired, his
neck and back full of aches, his mood growing despon-
dent. It had been a long day and it wasn't over yet. He
needed a short break from his cares and the chance to
lift his spirits.
Looking out of the bay window at the even grey sky,
he said, 'Harry, I need some time to myself, just to
unwind before the reception this evening. Okay?'
'Of course, Robert. Say about an hour?'
'An hour would be fine.'
'See you later, then.'
When he looked round there was no sign of Harry
and he got up and left the room. Along the polished
wood corridor were his personal rooms, one of which
he kept locked with an intricate old-fashioned key which
came with the house sets. Once inside his bedroom he
crossed to that door, unlocked it and stepped through.
'Hi, Daddy - glad you're back. Looks like it might
rain.'
Rosa stood by the window, her faintly opaque form
appearing oddly grainy in the natural light. Like an
ancient, pre-digital photograph. Like a memory.
'It rains a lot in this part of Darien,' he said, settling
into an armchair. 'So, what have you been doing today?'
'Oh, just reading my book and listening to the radio,'
she said.
The ghostly shape of a book lay on the undisturbed
bed, projected there by the intersim which sat on the
shoulder-height mantelpiece. Two thin cables ran out
from the small unit, one to a module that drew power
from the house supply, the other to a pen-sized radio.
The book, Robert knew, was most likely either Lewis
Carroll's Alice Through The Looking-Glass or The
Empire of Propaganda by Nolan Chilcott, her favourite
dissident writer. Her grey cardigan and long blue
woollen dress were from a family holiday six years ago,
but her short hair and flower earrings were from the last
time he saw her alive ...
He knew what Harry would say, that he was being
lulled and enervated by the holosim's verisimilitude, but
he dismissed it. He was using t
his detailed imitation of
his daughter to dull the grief that he still felt, to help him
come to terms with the loss. Harry was mistaken - he
knew what was real and what was not.
'If I look between those houses,' Rosa said, 'I can see
a lake and a forest and mountains. So beautiful.' She
turned to him. 'Daddy, on the radio I heard that the
moon people, the Uvovo, have planted what they call
daughter-forests, using seeds and saplings from their
world. Have you seen one yet? I've heard that they glow
at night.'
'Actually, I'm due to visit the one near Port Gagarin
the day after tomorrow - would you like to come?'
'Oh, could I? That would be wonderful.'
'It's settled then - we'll go together.'
Rosa's face was bright with a smile free from the
burden of care as she picked up the translucent book
from the bed. 'I know you've not much time, Daddy,'
she said. 'But would you like me to read some Alice to
you?'
'I'd like that very much,' Robert said, smiling.
So he settled back in the armchair's comfort and lis-
tened to his daughter's precious voice tell the story of a
little girl who passed through into a looking-glass world.
13
CATRIONA
As soon as the drinks waiter came up onto the temple
rampart, she selected a glass of yellowbead and
knocked it straight back. Ignoring the waiter's look of
amusement, she took a second glass and went to stand
next to the rampart's mossy, time-ruined wall, staring
morosely down at the chattering knots of people. It
was a cloudless day and not yet noon, and from where
she stood she could see almost the entirety of the
Giant's Shoulder dig site, from the sections of shattered
wall that delineated the blunt point of the promontory
to the grassy, hillocky expanse almost 300 metres to the
rear, where steep, jagged rocks reared up to join the
buttresses and crags that jutted from the densely
forested ridge overseeing all. The bulk of the ruins were
scattered around the area immediately behind the ram-
parts - fragments of walls, corners, tumbled heaps of
masonry debris lying where they were discovered.
Numerous ongoing excavations had been roped off,
although some of the old ones, like the Stairwell or the
Crypt, had been refurbished with benches and info-
panels for sightseers. Areas of flagstones long since
unearthed from the topsoil were now occupied by
small tents within which cabinet displays depicted arte-
facts and an easy-to-digest potted history of the site.
But it was the largely uninterrupted stretch directly
below her vantage point where rows of seating had
been laid out for the reception and presentation in
honour of the Hegemony representative, High Monitor
Kuros.
And part of that presentation was to be delivered
by Catriona Macreadie. It was a source of raw annoy-
ance to her, knowing as she did that many of the
Institute's Darien-based members were perfectly capa-
ble of giving a brief talk and answering the esteemed
Sendrukan's questions. She had made this point
bluntly to her superior, Professor Forbes, in his office
at Pilipoint Station nearly fifteen hours ago, but to no
avail.
'That may be so, Doctor Macreadie,' Forbes had
said, wearing his habitual thin smile. 'But it seems that
the Sendruka delegation has specifically requested that
you be the one to assist Mr Cameron during their visit
to the site.'
'Why me?'
'Sadly, I am not privy to these aliens' reasoning,
nor did Director Petrovich indicate that he possessed
such information. However, he was most insistent
that you be on the next shuttle back to Darien
which . . .' he had paused to look round at the hideous
ornamental clock on his wall'.. . leaves in less than an
hour.'
Catriona had forced herself to be icy calm, deter-
mined not to lose her composure and tell him which
species of forest-floor bug he most closely resembled
This time.
'Professor Forbes, that doesn't give me enough time
to return to my quarters and prepare, not to mention
the question of what to wear.'
'I'm sure that the Externals office at the Institute can
provide suitable attire for you on your arrival,' he had
said. 'And you may use the archive hub if you really feel
the need to brush up on the Uvovo, but whatever you
do please try not to embarrass us. Deliver a straight
summary of our findings and restrict any speculation to
verified facts. That will be all . . .'
Now, standing on the temple rampart, she could still
feel the anger and frustration simmering away inside,
unquenched by the glass of yellowbead liqueur. Anger
at Forbes, and frustration at being a world away while
a certain package was probably sitting in the mail
drawer in the enclave storage hut back at Starroof
Town. She had persuaded Galyna, a researcher friend at
Pilipoint Station, to process her forest-floor recording
with a lab imager on the quiet, thus hopefully revealing
just what had passed before the minicam. The
processed file had been due to arrive in the daily drop
several hours ago.
Instead here I am, getting ready to pose as a glorified
tour-guide for some self-important alien bureaucrat.
Yes, hand-holding offworlders through a pre-teen-level
commentary seems to be all the Institute thinks I'm fit
for...
She halted her spiralling bitterness, swallowed a
mouthful of yellowbead, and sighed. Patience was a
virtue she felt she was always having to learn anew,
despite which she turned her thoughts to listing all the
enigmas she had encountered, ranking the Pathmasters
first. . .
Then music interrupted her musing, the sound of a
lone piper, the high, pure tone of the chanter floating
above the suddenly hushed crowd, picking out the notes
of a stately, soulful pibroch. Then the deeper voices of
the drones rose, a steady undercurrent for the deliberate
pace of the melody. The piper, a young, dark-haired man
decked out in the full regalia, walked in time through
the ruins towards the attentive gathering.
Catriona loved pipe music in general, even the mod-
ernist tranzy dance fads, but it was the performance of
a solo piper that truly moved her. To her it sounded
lonely yet defiant, dignified but not pompous, and it
spoke to her of faraway Earth and that small corner of
it which only some of the First Families had known
first-hand.
More than once during her years as an Enhanced,
she had gone up onto the dormitory roof after dark to
sit with pipe music playing quietly on her little radio
as she looked up at the dust-hazed point of stars. With
no way to know if Earth and Humanity had survived
the Swa
rm invasion, she could only gaze and wonder
and wish, thoughts and music spiralling up into the
sky . . .
'He is a very good player, is he not?' said a female
voice behind her.
She turned to see a tall, middle-aged woman dressed
in a pale blue, ankle-length gown that was all elegant
folds and embroidered hems and which stopped just
short of ostentatious. A patterned grey shawl covered
her shoulders and arms, and her silvery hair was
braided and held back with a carved wood headband.
She seemed vaguely familiar.
'Yes, he is,' she replied, smiling hesitantly. 'Very
expressive.'
'When I was younger I saw his father win the
Northern Towns Trophy three times,' the woman said
in a Norj accent. 'I am Solvjeg Cameron.'
Recognition flooded Catriona's thoughts. 'Ah, you're
Greg's mother . .. oh, I'm Catriona Macreadie.'
As they shook hands, Solvjeg Cameron smiled. 'So
you are the Doctor Macreadie who worked with Greg
before. Are you here today in an official capacity?'
'Yes, I'm going to be giving a brief speech about the
Uvovo, and answering questions.'
'Fascinating,' Solvjeg said, suddenly giving her a
curious look. 'Macreadie ... are you related to the New
Kelso Macreadies, by any chance?'
Although outwardly calm and poised, Catriona's
thoughts were scattering in panic, and the lie came to
her lips seemingly of its own accord.
'No, my parents were both from Stranghold,' she
said. 'They died when I was very young.'
'I am so sorry to hear that, my dear,' Greg's mother
said, suddenly sympathetic. 'You must have had a diffi-
cult childhood . ..'
But before the next line of questioning could get
under way, Solvjeg's gaze shifted to the side a little and
she waved. Glancing round, Catriona saw an older man
in hillwalker browns wave back briefly before heading
along the grassy slope towards the steps that led up to
the ramparts.
'My brother wants me to come down,' Solvjeg said.
'But no doubt we shall meet again. I hope the day goes
well for you.'
Catriona smiled and gave a little wave goodbye while
inside she was thinking, Why did I say that? How could
I be so stupid? Greg's mother was one of those ultra-con-
nected matriarch types - it would only take a couple of
enquiries to find out that Catriona was a failed
Enhanced. She knew she shouldn't be ashamed or embar-
Michael Cobley - Humanity's Fire book 1 Page 12
